Vanas Opportunis
by Dena Gray
Summary: Snape gets a certain kind of deviant itch every once in a while, and uses an illegal potion on seventh year girls to relieve it...until that seventh year girl is Hermione. lil'OOC, alot A/U, Graphic and Immoral.
1. Chapter 1

3/17/11! I did not know at the time of writing this that there was another fic of the same title and a similar line (Seventh Year Itch) so I've changed my fic's title to Vanas Opportunis, which is what I've decided to name the potion Snape uses on his unsuspecting victims. Vanas is Sanskrit for for 'lust' or 'zest' so there ya go.

_**A/N: Ok, this is DEFINITELY not my world (jkr, hbp, etc. all rights reserved for her blah blah I make no money blah blah) and DEFINITELY A/U! The storyline and "plot" (what there is of it) is mine and I don't think anyone else wants to claim it. Hence the previous note and title change ;)**_

_**! Warning ! Adult content, NON-CONSENTUAL SEX, immorality, drugging, violence, and featuring Snape as a devious miscreant who will do anything to scratch an itch, so if you don't want to read that, then GET OUT NOW!**_

_**YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. TURN BACK NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.**_

_**Or…reap the rewards ;) My twisted mind offers you to continue:**_

* * *

For crying out loud, did the skirts have to be _that _short? And on fifth years no less! Stupid little girls had no idea what went through men's minds…or maybe they did and hence the shortening charms but if they'd had an idea of _which_ man's mind perhaps they'd be more circumspect. He slapped his palm against the English walnut of the ancient door to the Potions classroom and slid it along the iron rivets to the thick edge, wrapping his jaundiced fingers about it to fling it closed behind him. It sunk into the stone archway with a resounding thud that never failed to deepen his sneer whenever the sound brought the room to silence. Yes, by the time they'd reach fifth year, they knew to fear him, if not respect him, and that was good enough for the control he constantly sought in the never-ending deosil spiral of his life.

He swept to the front of the classroom with as much flair as any stage actor, thinking of deBergerac, a fellow rhinoceros that shared his affliction of nothing to recommend him but words and panache.

He nearly snorted his offending protrusion. While he absolutely admired the strength and style of said literary character, the complete and utter…he shuddered…mawkishness of his regard for Roxane was disgusting.

Severus preferred his own debauched little secrets, and as the owners of the little short skirts crossed and uncrossed their lithe legs beneath the desk just to the right of the center in the second row, he began to feel that itch again.

Gritting his teeth in what the students knew to mean a particularly harsh lesson to come, he embarked on teaching yet another potion that perhaps two or three out of the fifteen or so in the class would actually retain knowledge of. Nevermind that each of them would probably have need of a Dreamless Sleep Potion someday in their tiny, ant-like lives.

Thank Merlin he kept his robes lined in silk or the wool would have his itch beyond control by the time his seventh year class came around. Even shorter skirts, silly bints, and teamed together with the twisting and stretching of ingredient preparation to reveal their brassieres between the button plackets. Honestly!

He shook his head, deepening the disapproving scowl that by seventh year, they chose to ignore…except perhaps a few. Longbottom gave him no end of delight when he tripped over that blundering Yorkshire tongue. That never ceased to be funny. Malfoy would toss unsure looks in his direction, waiting to see if Snape would praise him in public and rat on him to his father or not. Again, ceaseless entertainment.

And then there was Granger of the not-short-skirt. That insufferable bitch wouldn't let him have a moment's peace. _Should I cut just so, sir? Shouldn't I add this now instead of then, sir? What about such-and-such's article on preparation published in last week's journal of what-not?_ Constantly questioning…arrogant little bitch. As if he'd not been doing this longer than she'd been alive.

Hmm. His eyes narrowed as his itch grew a bit and focused. Yes. Granger needed to be taken down a peg. His right brow shot up, the only way he'd ever show a public semblance of a smile. Or perhaps she needed to be taken down ON a peg. Hah.

Interesting.

This needed careful planning. He turned to his workbench and checked on the potion he'd started earlier in the day during fifth year's classes.

* * *

_Three days later, on a Sunday, no less!_

Hermione slipped out of the side entrance to Gryffindor Tower onto the sloping hill towards the Forbidden Forest. A quick reconnaissance spied Hagrid tending his abnormally huge pumpkins and waving off a gaggle of insistent crows, but no-one else.

Not wishing to be seen, and needing a bit of fresh air after too much Quidditch babble from the boys, she slipped around the rounded tower and headed down to the lake, away from Hagrid and his pumpkin patch.

Honestly, couldn't they breathe about something else? Okay, that or the female population's current fascination with shortening charms on their skirts? It was enough to give a good girl a very nasty complex, especially after failing so miserably at any kind of sexual interest from the three boys she might have ever wanted.

Thank God that's water under the bridge, now. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, ducked her chin against the cold and started counting the huge buttresses and alcoves supporting the massive walls of the castle. So intent on counting, just to keep depression from setting in, she nearly didn't hear it,

"Psst!"

She stopped, blinked, but otherwise held perfectly still. Her wand was in her pocket, so she already had her hand on it. She'd walked by all the buttresses and looked in all the alcoves as she did so, keeping a running tally of each separately in her head (twelve and five, so far) and none had been occupied on this early Sunday morning.

So where had the— "Psst! Hey! Come here!"

Okay, now that needed investigation, obviously! She turned and rocked back on her heels to find _Snape_ gesturing madly at her from alcove number five. "Professor?" She sped up to see what was wrong, what he could possibly be doing…up? Here? Asking for her help? _Psst_-ing her?

"What's wrong?"

He did that thing with his eyes where they squinted a few different ways before his gigantic nostrils flared, then grabbed her arm and sprayed something from an atomizer into her face. She couldn't help but breathe it in, it smelled like roses and cream and something else really, really yummy.

She looked at him funny, tried pulling away a bit, but her vision…why wouldn't her eyes focus right? He was slipping into two people, then sliding against himselves as he advanced and she felt herself being pulled into alcove Fumber…number…

Nothing.

* * *

Snape breathed in the scent he'd long since inured himself to, an offshoot of Amortentia, something to create uninhibited desire if drank, but merely happy compliance and little memory if inhaled or absorbed. He pocketed the atomizer and estimated he had about thirty minutes before the potion wore off and she came back from the wizarding world's contribution to a selection of roofies. He tested her pulse…elevated…her pupils, dilated. Nice. Yes, this will do. The best part of this was that the person affected by the potion lost reasoning function and short term memory, but kept motor functions and reactions. Ergo, she was an active partner.

He counted himself a miscreant, perhaps a rapist if you put a fine point on it, but pedophile never crossed his mind since he'd kept his victims to the seventh year, and even then, only a select few. He smiled, now the fun part. How much of an itch could she scratch?

Flipping back her robes and stroking down her sides, she giggled and reached for him, her eyes closed. Perhaps she thought this a dream. He quirked a brow and slid his hands upward, under her shirt just a bit to the warmth of her stomach and wrapped his hands there, enjoying the first foray into the forbidden. She gasped and turned up her head, slipping her hands up his robes, along the lapel to his neck and pulled. Hmph, he might have known Granger was a kisser.

With a smile – more a smirk - no one ever got to see, dark and evil and full of mal-intent, he dove forward and stole her kisses, taking what no one ever _wanted_ to give him, slipping across the velvet of her lips, licking in between. She shivered. Hmm. It was a nice reaction, but not indicative of much experience. Her breath stole across his face for a brief moment before he banished the thought and submerged himself into the act of taking advantage of the situation…of her. His teeth scraped across her jaw on his way down to her neck, she crooned. He snarled at this evidence of innocence and bit her neck, right at the stabilizing muscle that ran diagonally from behind her ear to the collarbone, the one closest to the jugular. She cried out in ecstasy. Ah, Merlin, this little know-it-all didn't know so much after all, did she?

His hands clawed their way up under her shirt to yank down the cups of her brassiere, scraping his nails against her nipples. Ah! She was so hot! Her hands fluttered, smoothed, settled in his hair and grasped, pulling not to pull away, but even _better_, just for the pleasure of it. Big handfuls of his hair and he growled his way down her neck to the triangular indention behind her collarbone and suckled, his hands now kneading the young breasts in his hands.

Damn it all to hell and back, she was delicious and he was running out of time.

Mercilessly, he kept his right hand on one breast as his left hand made quick work of her panties beneath the appropriate-length skirt she wore. Tiny, brunette curls shifted in front of him as she squirmed against the wall in their hidden alcove. The panties caught on her left shoe, she pouted a bit and stepped out of them, surprising him, but he hid that surprise from himself by rocking forward and nibbling on her hip. His left hand started back up from her knee and she was freely groaning pleasure now.

His thumb was the first of his blessed instruments to reach her hot core and it reveled in the wetness he found there. His right arm ached from reaching upward and dropped down to meet its brother between her legs, despite her pout of protest. Interesting.

It wasn't often he got more than compliance from his little itches, so actual participation and enjoyment fed fuel to the fire. He had to know now. Locking his tongue over her clitoris, then lower and using his not-insignificant nose as well, she shrieked and snarled her hands in his hair again, but he slid a long finger up into her, searching for what was—or hopefully wasn't—there.

His heart beat a pitch faster as he slid another finger in, searching…a third…Merlin, yes. The last three itches had still had their virginity, but this one didn't!

He smiled and renewed his tonguing of her slick center, enjoying that much more her cries of abandon. She'd not had much experience, that was obvious, or very good experience, he'd probably bet on that…but thank whatever gods were listening that she had _some_ experience so he could satisfy this infernal itching.

Robes off, trousers undone and dropped just enough to free himself, he gave her one more good lick – got a good scream out of her for it – and slipped his arms behind her legs, hooking them over his elbows as he rose up, lifting them both against the wall.

Her eyes. They opened just a crack. That didn't happen! Maybe…he kissed her back into oblivion and drove into her, the excitement of getting caught hiking up his level of need _that much more_. Her eyes rolled fully open then. Fuck.

She bracketed his face with her hands and pulled him back for another searing kiss. He admitted to himself it made him harder just thinking that she wanted him anyway, but he knew it was just the potion, it _had to be. No one wanted him._

With that mantra rollicking through his angry mind, he bent himself to fucking her hard, as hard as he was never allowed to be. No one wanted him. No one sought his company, so every month he _took_ it! With every ounce of pureblood arrogance he could muster, he pounded the skinny, know-it-all, bushy-haired, formerly buck-toothed, irritating, nosy, disgustingly-loyal-to-Potter MUDBLOOD into the wall!

And Merlin help him if it wasn't the best fuck of his life.

* * *

Hermione woke with a headache and the sun alternately being blocked and blaring into her eyelids. She groaned…how did she end up on the ground?

Someone was talking but it was tinny and sounds were…weird…like they weren't forming right. There was a hand on hers, holding it, then another slapping the top and it was like she surfaced water, coming up for air.

Sound hit her: "Miss Granger, are you alright?"

"Huh?"

"I came round the corner and saw you on the ground. Did someone hurt you?"

She blinked, registering two images sliding together, forming into one person… "Professor Snape?"

He arched a brow and curled a lip but seemed less…snarky than he'd been over the past few days. "I see you've retained your powers of the obvious, but why did I find you lolling about on the ground unconscious?"

She looked down at her hand, still in his. He did that thing with his eyes, squinting a few different ways – and that seemed to trigger some kind of feeling but she couldn't think of what – but he snatched his hands away and curled him into his robes. He stood, sighed, and muttered something about going to get Hagrid when she finally snapped to full senses.

"Wait! No! I'm fine." He paused mid-stride, turned to her with an expectant sneer…almost a leer…why didn't she shrink away from that? "Erm…I really have no idea why I fell…or fainted, or whatever, but I'm fine now." Besides. Hagrid would tell Harry. And Ron. Then she'd never get a moment alone again.

He stared back with those nothing eyes and she rolled to her side to get up. She was surprised to feel…Oh, God, what was that feeling? Somewhere between "ouch" and "fantastic" and a whole lot of yum. She paused at the thought of the word "yum", her brow crinkling in thought.

"Something else the matter, then?"

She blinked. Why was he still here? He usually absolved himself of student responsibility as soon as possible, but he was obviously making sure she was alright enough to stand on her own before leaving her. Weird.

It shocked her enough into the truth, or some of it: "I'm…a bit sore. I guess from the fall. I think I'll go see Madame Pomfrey."

There went the squinty thing with his eyes again. After a moment, he held out his hand to her.

Weirder and Weirder! But she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth! She took the hand and pulled herself up with his assistance. It brought her closer to him than she'd normally have said she'd have liked, but…he smelled good.

Roses and cream and something…yummy…

A few breaths passed as he glared down at her. Finally, he relented, stalking off and speaking over his shoulder, "See that you do."

* * *

Every night she dreamed about him.

Every sheet-scratching, cold-shower, touch-sensitive, sound-sensitive, _smell-sensitive_ night she dreamed about _him_.

WHY?

It didn't follow logic. Or reason. It's not like he'd saved her from anything or paid her any compliments. He was simply walking by and saw her on the ground (the reason for which she still couldn't fathom), then made sure she was okay and went on his way.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing had changed from their everyday lives.

So why did she find herself staring at him at meals and in class? If he caught her doing it, he did that (now adorable) squinty thing and looked away.

Honestly. What was wrong with her?

By the time a month had passed, she was ready to scratch some eyes out. It was getting colder and her wool tights here driving her crazy under her skirt, not to mention that she couldn't sit through a single potions class anymore without _serious_ distractions from the previous night's dream invading what little practicum she could provide.

It finally came to a culmination when Snape became snarky again and she just…lost it. Her potion turned black, then started boiling and smoking from her out of control emotions. The Potions Master strode over to her desk with boot heels ringing in her ears and banished her shoddy work. "Detention, Granger. You'll recreate it after class until you get it right."

She opened her mouth to beg off for one day to get her emotions under control but his nothing eyes held no sympathy. She sat in her seat until everyone cleared out.

He swung the heavy door shut with a thud that jangled up her nerve endings and nearly made her want to scream.

"Alright, Granger, out with it."

Her eyes widened and swung incredulously to him as he swept back towards her, finally crossing his arms and leaning his backside against her neighboring desk.

"Um…out with what…sir?" He couldn't possibly…?

"Something's keeping you from performing in class and you're too much of a goody-two-shoes to accept such low standards as par for the course, so please enlighten me as to the sudden slide in your academia. I'm not the only faculty noticing, by the way."

So why wasn't this McGonagall? Why him? Her breathing sped up. Was this another dream? She reached under the desk and clawed her leg slightly through her tights and gritted her teeth on the little pain. Okay. No dream. She looked back up at him.

"Well?"

"I…" She couldn't possibly tell him the truth, but she could tell him _part_ of it. "I've been having really…strong dreams lately. They keep me awake at night. On nerve's end." She really couldn't keep eye contact with him on that last bit.

"Dreams, mmm?"

She nodded.

"What about, I wonder?"

And there was something about the way he said it, the way he paused after every hard consonant that just trilled up her spine and flashed something from one of her dreams. She gasped quietly, but he must have heard it.

Why else did he shift forward and invade her mind, bracketing the desk in front of and behind her, bearing down on her, breathing on her, riffling through her…NO!

Her eyes flared and she sat helpless, crying as his nothing eyes bored into hers, stealing her dreams, every wanton desire and scream and orgasm she'd been denying her waking self for a month. She sat, trembling, tears flowing down her face as her darkest secret lay flat in his mind, ready to receive his attentions any which way he sought.

She bit her wet lips together, realizing that he was _inches_ away. She could steal a kiss and run away, be punished for her perfidious thoughts and running out on detention later!

And God help her, but he saw that thought, too.

How could nothing eyes be so full?

He fisted the front of her robes in his hand and dragged her mouth to his. She wept with relief and release, understanding, for once, what a dementor wanted with eating someone's soul. She devoured his mouth and wrapped her arms around his head, both of them inhaling…

Roses…cream…

Something god-awful yummy…

A wall in alcove number five…

_HIM_

_HE_ was the one that beckoned her over…sprayed something…she hadn't remembered but Oh. FUCK. She did now!

NOT DREAMS.

REALITY.

She used her hands in his hair to pull his mouth off of hers and looked equally at him as he knelt between her legs. His chin jutted out defiantly. So he _was_ still in her mind.

There were several heartbeats that she thought of going to the headmaster. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His hands squeezed her thighs under her skirt, but through the woolen tights that were still driving her mad.

He saw his opening and slid his hands up her thighs, using that madness against her.

The message was clear: tell the headmaster and you won't get that itch taken care of.

She deliberately thought about Harry and Ron, even Draco. He sneered and laughed a mirthless, hollow thing. _They can't give you what I have, now can they?_

Anger boiled down her spine, her own sneer in place. Fine. She had the satisfaction of a moment's surprise across his face as she yanked his hair in her fists to pull his mouth hard and biting back to hers. She punished him for his perfidy, scraped at his skin with her nails, bit him where she could, careful not to leave marks, just enough to feel.

He answered by standing up and yanking her to her feet, through the rest of the classroom to his office door. He drew her in and didn't even give her a chance to see anything more than a blur of desk and not-color before he was on her against the door. The iron rivets dug into her head, her back, her rear. She shifted and pushed forward, the angry lioness ready to tread on the deceitful snake, but he read her again and swung her around to the desk, keeping their lips locked as he stripped her on the way.

He picked her up by placing both his hands on her rear and lifting, spreading her cheeks exquisitely and sliding her onto the mahogany monstrosity of his desk. He had her blouse off and was working her brassiere. She fiddled with the hundred buttons of his tunic-style frock coat. Sadistic bastard.

He breathed a light laugh and actually spoke into her ear, "That would technically make me a masochist, _this_ makes me a sadist…" He bit her neck, AH! Just like before, only this time he sucked hard. She groaned with it. She'd have a nasty love bite but oh GOD that felt good. He chuckled evilly and dispensed with his jacket and shirt much more quickly than she could hope to in the distracted state he was achieving with her.

As soon as his hands were free of clothing, they both had their hands everywhere, testing, coursing, feeling. Somewhere along the way, she found he liked her to lick behind his ear, tease his abdomen with her fingernails. He growled at her discovery and started rolling off her tights.

"Merlin, I think I want to just rip them off of you."

Her expression, her cry, her nails digging into his shoulders told him this might not be a bad idea. He grinned and slipped a hand into a desk drawer for one of his many, many knives. Carefully, he slit the elastic waistband on each side and replaced the knife in the drawer. She'd shivered at the cool metal and kept her eyes on him. Such trust. How misplaced.

He wrenched his smile into a grimace of animalistic pleasure as he ripped the woolen tights off of her.

Gods, her face was beautiful, full of sex and want and need and Oh. FUCK he needed her!

No wonder she didn't mind the tights being ripped off. No panties. Slut! He yanked the rest of the mess down to the floor between them, she fumbled with his trousers, running one hand along his cock and trying the button with the other, irritation slowly creasing between her eyes.

He nearly laughed at that. He grabbed her face and pulled it in for a good, distracting kiss, then prepped her with his hands for where his mouth would follow, down to her breasts.

It struck him as absofuckinglutely wonderful to not be on a time restriction.

He kissed his way down, licking a path from her lips to her left areola and then her right, paying each prolonged attention until she was shivering and shuddering on the desk. And judging from the heat rolling off her, there was no fucking way she was cold.

He leaned her back, she put her hands back and held herself open to him…so beautifully open to him. He had to blink to remember this was real and not potion induced.

He was suddenly harder than ever and quickly undid his trousers, letting the silk lining be a precursor to the caress of her body he knew would be coming next. His hands topped her knees, slid up her thighs, brushed against her curls and slid up the sides of her stomach all the way up to fill themselves with her breasts. She rolled her head up and gave him the same look she'd given him before, back in the alcove when he'd first entered her…supreme want.

Eyes glittering, mouth open, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled…Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to fuck this little mudblood until the desk was splinters beneath them. He took a hold of himself and guided his cock to that hot, slick core and wrapped his free hand around her neck, pulling himself into her and up to kiss her at the same time.

He swallowed her cries as he fucked, had sex…Merlin forbid anyone should ever hear him say he made love, but oh gods, she was magnificent in her eagerness. She wrapped her legs and arms around him and held on for dear life, tilting up just so, angling now instead of then and oh gods, _where_ did she learn to run her fingernails so lightly up between his arse cheeks?

He knew his hands had to be bruising her hips, but he needed more and deeper and now. Her sounds were getting louder and louder, her sheath tightening in waves…Merlin not yet, she's almost there…

He couldn't help it, she melted him, incinerated him, came so hard he yelled his own to the rafters and had to keep up with the desk shifting on the floor a few inches. He just stood there, in her, around her, marveling that he was still pulsing bit by bit as he kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck, her breast, her shoulder…anything he could reach with his mouth on her.

They gasped for air into the cooling office, blowing inconvenient loose hair out of each other's faces and wiping sweat from each other's brows. He didn't even want to think of the mess on his desk right now. He'd deal with it later. Right now, he picked her up, still wrapped around him, and sat down in his office chair with her straddling him. He'd slipped out in the process, but damn, she felt good against him like this.

She started kissing him again.

"Herm—mione."

"What?"

"I'm not ready to jump back in the saddle yet. Give it a few, please?"

"Shut up, I just want to kiss you."

Astounded, he could do nothing but take what she offered. True to her word, she didn't move except to kiss him and within a few short seconds, he was an active participant, despite misgivings.

"Why?"

"Mmm?" She backed off and pulled his lower lip with her, releasing it with a plopping wet sound.

"Why are you kissing me and not screaming your head off or running for the nearest exit?"

"Oh. Well, I guess it helps that I like kissing you."

She kissed him, tongue delving deeply and twining with his. He made a sound of assent in the back of his throat, but broke off, "What do you mean, it helps? What else?"

She smirked, full of whatever power she felt she now had over him. "Greedy git, aren't you?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked the tip of his nose, then wiped off the saliva by nuzzling the protrusion with her cheek.

He nearly gaped.

She'd just kissed—no—licked and nuzzled his nose. He narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, feeling that itch coursing through his veins faster and harder than before…ever before. He kicked off the remains of his trousers, held her to him with arms and a devouring kiss and dumped her onto the office sofa. She squealed, he growled, she backed up, he descended.

Where he might have shown restraint or mercy before, he gave none now. She'd shown him desire, given him the gift of accepting his most hated appendage and that meant she got everything in return.

Every lick, every suck, every bite and nuzzle was intensified tenfold in his mind and he made damn well sure she could feel it by slipping back into her mind and showing it to her. She responded…amazingly. He'd not thought she'd have such passion in her, beyond what she'd already shown him, but here it was, served to him on a platter, his for the taking and with her _consent_.

By the time he was ready to enter her this time, he was able to take it slow enough to enjoy every insane strangle of pleasure drawn out of her. He played her like a dirge on a violin, slow, with agonizing texture and emotion. When she came that time, it was hard enough to nearly bruise him, but _fuck_ the way her body responded could do nothing but excite him. He let go and spilled himself inside, kissing her foot, then her leg as he held it in the air by his head for a better angle.

He could do this every night.

Her breathing quietened enough to worry him as he finally calmed enough to come back to reality. He checked her eyes and her pulse, then smiled himself silly. He'd just fucked her unconscious. Without the aid of potions.

* * *

Yet again, Hermione woke with a headache and that ouch/wow feeling but this time, someone was with her…who—oh God. Oh, God what had she done? Wait, was she still dreaming? She looked at the tangled mass of oily hair ensnared in her fingers and felt the man's hand gripping one of her breasts.

She closed her eyes and realized the rest of him was between her legs. Her very naked legs.

Looking around for some kind of something to orient herself on, she found herself in the Potion Master's _office_.

Well, duh, you had mind-blowing sex with him how many times last night? Tonight? What time is it?

Everything swooped back in on her now that she knew she wasn't just experiencing another frantic and incomplete dream. Her breathing intensified…Intensified. Like Snape.

God, was he intense.

She wrapped her arms and legs about him in memory of what they'd shared last night…? Tonight? What bloody time was it?

She looked about for a clock.

"What's wrong, sweet?"

"How long have I been here?"

He looked over her shoulder. Well that explains why she couldn't see a clock. "About an hour and a half. Your potion making skills are slipping, terribly." He mocked her and squeezed her rear at the same time.

She melted a bit, enjoying all that had passed between them. "Well, it doesn't help that I have this terrible distraction…this…itch, you might say."

His lips quirked. "Itch? Funny, that's what I call it."

"I know, I saw."

"Oh, you did, did you? Naughty thing, reversing a spell like that. What else did you find?"

"Enough to get you in trouble without incriminating me."

He stiffened, surely wondering why she was still playing with his hair if she was going to betray him—

"So I'm thinking you need to keep me happy to keep that from happening."

He did that squinty thing with his eyes again. "Oh?"

"Mmmhmm."

"And what would that take, you little harpy?"

She made sure to smile into his eyes and keep her mind open for him to read. She felt him slip in, "Fuck me like that every once in a while and leave the other seventh year girls alone. I want you all to myself."

He quirked a brow and judged her words against her thoughts. Not a duplicitous thought crossed her mind except to keep him in her bed. Astounding. He felt his mouth slide into a smirk. "Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer at Ch1.

* * *

"But _I_ want to see it."

"Brat. You'll not be leaving my office with a snitch-sized bite on the side of your neck, so hold still." She grinned and darted, naked, out from his arms, only to be caught up again and spooned against him. He ground his near-interest into her backside and she purred, arching back into him. "Yes, I thought that might hold you."

She slipped down, bouncing her breasts against the forearm that held against her and slid her arse and hair along his body. Merlin! Successfully distracted at his own game, he barely noticed when she scrambled over to a small mirror near the coat rack at the door.

He blinked. Cow!

She flipped her hair back and preened, arching just enough to see his bite on her neck, prodding at it with her fingers.

He took the opportunity to sort out putting on his trousers at least. "There," he growled over at her, "you've seen it. Now I'll take it off before anyone else sees it and thank you _very_ much for losing me a rather costly mirror."

She whirled on him, the confusion on her face really quite amusing. He arched his left eyebrow and waited. "What do you mean? I've done nothing to it."

"Except give anyone with the proper spell the means with which to get me sacked from this school."

She arched her own brow at that. "You did that as soon as you brought me in here." Then she snorted and started pacing back to him, imitating her house mascot. "No, I think you've been doing that every time you took a seventh-year into one of those alcoves."

He sneered back, unsure of where she was leading. "Jealous?"

"Hardly."

"Then what?"

"I'm just pointing out that you can point at me all you like, but you've only got yourself to blame. Even our own affaire could be set neatly under the heading of _your_ fault."

She poked a finger into his chest, he leaned casually back into the still-off-kilter desk, bracing his hands on the edge. "Do you expect some sort of apology from _me_?" Didn't she want this to continue?

He watched, impassively, as myriad expressions coursed over her face. She finally settled with a clicked sigh of exasperation and lifted her hair off the hickey. "No. Not from _you_, I don't."

He flicked his wand and a few spells over her skin, fairly regretting having to remove the mark, himself, but he really couldn't afford to leave it there. This turnabout of free play with someone was going to his head.

"Get dressed and I'll scope out the classroom." He dressed himself with practiced speed and spared her a last glance as she paced around the room picking up pieces of her clothing in trailing bits. It was rather amusing.

She made it round his desk and stared, frowning, at the floor. He arched a brow and waited, then watched as she bent and picked up a grey mess of snarls. The fascinating part was watching her face melt from horrified to hot as obviously memory came back to her as to how her tights entered that state.

She looked about for something else, but she seemed to have everything by now. "What."

"Ooh!" She jumped a fraction, then glared, "you're still here?"

"Obviously. What are you looking for?"

She blinked, looked at the mess in her hands, and shook her head. "Nothing." She dropped the tights onto the desk and banished them with a flick of her wand.

Far be it from him to question the mind of an eighteen year old. He opened his office door quickly and strode in, closing it behind him sharply, heading straight for his workbench and scanning the room for anyone or anything. The room was clear for her to sneak out.

It was another month before he caught up to her privately again.

* * *

What was she doing? Who did she think she was? Ron and Harry would _never_ forgive her and she'd be the pariah of the English wizarding community if anyone found out, but God, help her, it was as if she were finally ALIVE.

Everyone commented that she looked…better, happier, healthier, _rosier._ That comment always got a chuckle out of her. Roses. She looked at them differently now. And clotted cream for biscuits at tea nearly made her melt. As for that other smell? The yum?

She smiled and hid her eyes, turned them to the ground lest anyone in her group walking to Hogsmeade actually see her eyes grow hot at the thought of _that_ smell. It was the smell of _man_. And she knew it wasn't just Snape because she smelled it on some of the boys coming out of the locker rooms after Quidditch and sometimes in Herbology… sometimes someone would pass her in the hallways and she'd catch the yum smell and it would shake her whole body.

It was _the_ smell of which men would be sexually compatible to her and so far the owners were really fairly surprising. Seamus? No way. Neville, she could understand and filed that bit away for later…Goyle? Yergh! Okay, well, maybe not so yergh if he wasn't such a prat. He did have nice eyes.

She nearly choked on her pumpkin juice when she smelled Colin Creevey. Not happening. _So_ not happening.

Harry and Ron smelled…normal. It was kind of a relief, to tell the truth.

"Hermione, come on, you're doing that thing again!"

She looked up and saw that her group was several paces ahead of her. Lavender asked Ron "what thing?" and he responded with "I dunno, daydreaming or something."

Hermione frowned at them and shooed them off. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Relieved from their over-protective duties, they scrambled up the snowy incline and over the crest to Hogsmeade.

She was actually rather glad to see them go. At least now she had a moment's privacy outside the bathroom or her bedhangings. She looked about for a good place to sit off the beaten path and found a shorn stump of a fir tree lightly coated in snow. Snow swept off, dried and warmed with a wand, the stump was actually rather comfortable and her little waystation, rather peaceful.

Until a single set of footsteps crunched up next to her. "About time I found you alone."

She shivered at his voice and peered up at her Potions Professor. "What are you going to do, ravish me in the snow? I assure you, I'd find that not in the least comfortable."

Could he tell she was teasing him?

There went the eyes, squinting again. "Should I resort to my potions again? You were rather more compliant the last we met."

He just stood there, like a crow in the snow, his robes fluttering about like irritated wings. What did he want her to do? "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to jump your bones where everyone can see us?"

He seemed to take that into consideration, the git. "An interesting thought, but I was going to suggest we meet somewhere better…the basement to Honeydukes, perhaps?"

She blinked. "Why there?"

"There's a tunnel back to Hogwarts that runs beneath the basement," and now he finally moved towards her, placing his hands on her snow-sodden shoulders and oh Lord, but his heat went straight through to her bones. He bent down to her ear, "and I'd rather enjoyed the thought of hearing your cries echoing in that tunnel."

She shivered, but held her own, "I'll see you there, then?"

"If you feel you can…handle it, yes."

His innuendo was corny, but it made her smile. "I can handle it if you feel _up_ to it."

He straightened and pushed that _up_ into her back, bracing with his hands still on her shoulders. She wanted to flip around and nuzzle him through his trousers, but dared not, so close to the path. He chuckled evilly and stepped around her, then up the path and over the ridge to Hogsmeade.

Bastard.

* * *

"You said yourself I've been daydreaming and lagging behind. I shouldn't keep you from the pub just because I want to finish up some shopping."

"But we always grab a butterbeer at the pub, 'Mione."

"I'm fine, Ron, honestly. I'll see you back at the castle. Go…buy one for Lavender or something."

He jerked his head back and his eyebrows up at that, then cut his eyes across at Harry. He shrugged and made his way out of the shop in answer. She smiled at him. Harry was growing up. Ron however…

She shoved the prat in Harry's direction. "Just go, I'll see you later."

"Alright, alright, keep your knickers on. I'll go."

She snorted at the phrase, knowing that she'd have them off in a few if things went right. She puttered about the shop, wending her way to the back and waiting for the right opportunity to mutter a Disillusionment charm and slip down the cellar stairs.

Business wasn't terribly busy, but busy enough, so opportunity came soon and she found herself at the bottom of a rickety set of wooden steps, peering into the corners at the shadows for her companion.

It was hard not to squeal when hands came around her from behind, one at her mouth and one at her stomach. "I was beginning to grow impatient."

She answered with an open mouth caressing the palm across her lips.

"Vixen."

She hummed a laugh deep in her throat, _not yet._

* * *

Merlin, she was eager! It was more than he'd hoped for after she'd seemed to be unavailable for so many weeks, and then she'd been rather short with him in the fir copse. He'd pushed her to see if she was truly against having relations with him again or if she was just like him and bitching the itch. He'd been thoroughly satisfied with her physical responses. To be perfectly honest, even he couldn't get more than one weekend free out of the month to do as he pleased.

The hand at her waist wandered while she explored the other with her mouth. First a breast, then a hip, then dipping into the crux between her legs and her little thrust into his hand had him rocking her back into his erection, burying his face behind her braid to scrape his teeth at the rounded bit of flesh where her spine curled into her neck. They both shuddered.

Damn but they needed to get below before the shopkeeper came downstairs again!

He uncurled himself from around her and lifted the stone bit of floor, motioning her to precede him below. He took one last look around and descended into the dark recess, only to feel hands following his legs up to his arse as he did so. "Stop that."

He dropped the stone and whirled on her holding her wand out, lit against the dark corridor. "Why?" She smirked at him.

"What if I'd fallen?"

She snorted. "Mobilicorpus?"

"Only works on still things, silly witch." He advanced on her, pressing her closer to the wall behind her.

He watched her mind work between lust and trying to one-up him. "Arresto Momentum?"

His turn to snort, "That fast?" He came up against her as she hit the wall. "Arrest this momentum, you impractical thing, you." She smiled into his kiss. It felt strange and good at the same time, but he wanted the smile _off._ He ground her into the wall with his mouth and his body, unbuttoning her denims – all five maddening buttons.

As soon as her mouth relaxed from the smile and poured into the kiss, he yanked her hands from around his neck and spun her around to face the wall. From the sound of it, she didn't seem to mind _at all._ He leered and smoothed her denims down over her buttocks, catching her panties with his thumbs and taking them with.

He groaned. What a sweet arse.

All the more to _fuck_ you with my dear…

He smirked at his mental quip and her faster breathing, undid his trousers and slid his cock over her bare cheeks…just feeling the warmth, the softness of her there. He nearly smiled.

Alright, enough of that! His right hand came round to her hip, his left to her back and pulled her into just the right position to expose her without having to spread her legs. It had taken him quite some time to perfect this little trick and it was still one of his favorites.

She complied quite wonderfully, dragging her hands over the wall and groaning into the darkness. Her wand was the only light around and it gave an almost underwater quality to their surroundings. She gripped it tightly in her right hand, even as it snagged on a loose root poking through the packed dirt wall. The light shifted to show her face completely wanton…now _that _was his favorite part.

He shoved into her hard and without mercy. She yelled on a roll and it echoed beautifully, shivering from his ears down his spine to his scrotum. The harder he pushed, the harder she yelled and gasped and on and on…

The stone shifted. He stilled, his mind racing a million directions before settling on…he blinked…a strange solution, yes, but probably the only one that would work. He drew off his outer robe and threw it over Hermione, whispering harshly, "Put this on, play along, call me Severus and do not act like you're you."

He drew his wand, whispered the charm and started to move like he was still fucking her.

"Severus?"

Her voice came out just like, "Minerva…" Merlin that was…he shuddered in revulsion but kept the act.

She _had_ to have heard the people coming down the ladder at that point. Why else did she say, "Well, Severus, this is certainly kinky enough for me." She even added in a little groan he could have spent the rest of his life _not _hearing in McGonagall's voice.

"_Ahem."_

They stiffened. He looked over and to his complete and utter horror saw the only two faces he'd rather not see other than Minerva and Albus at this point. In fact, they would probably be slightly better than Potter and Weasley.

"We'll just be going then."

He smoothed his tunic coat and kept Hermione between him and the wall but the corridor was too small. Weasley tripped over himself and pushed him against Hermione which brought her lit wand towards her face. She whispered _nox_ rather quickly considering the circumstances (but _why_ hadn't she done it sooner?) however both boys lit their wands and shoved them in her face fast enough to light her on fire.

"_Hermione?_"

"You GIT! I'm going straight to Dumbledore on this one!"

Severus' mind was fast but not as fast as hers at this point.

"You'll do no such thing."

Even he had to stop and look at her at the sound of Minerva's voice coming from Hermione's body.

"What's wrong with your voice, Hermione?"

She wrapped his robes tightly around herself, probably to hide her clothing from the day which is what he'd intended. "Haven't you boys ever heard of a little potion called Polyjuice? Hmm? I think you made use of it rather illegally in your second year, if I remember correctly."

Severus shook his head. She was good. He'd only hoped to hide her in plain sight, but this was good enough to confuse them without bespelling them. They both looked highly uncertain and were starting to shift from outraged to disgusted. If it wasn't personal, he'd have been delighted to witness the interchange but as it was…

"I believe you two are not supposed to be privileged with the information of this corridor? Perhaps that coupled with the interference of…faculty relations…could result in house points loss or…?

"We're gone!"

And so they were. He smiled as soon as the stone shifted back over the ladder, but removed the weakness once her wand was lit again. He cancelled the charm over her voice before he regurgitated on something.

Her youthful voice sounded much better to his ears, "That was too close."

"My sentiments exactly. I say I need to get you back to that little fir copse posthaste."

She whimpered.

"What."

"We didn't finish."

He stared down at her, completely dumbfounded. Without another word, he Apparated them to her little stump and Apparated himself to Aberforth's for a drink.

* * *

She sat down with a flop. That BASTARD. Not a "see you later" or a "we'll catch up" or even a kiss goodbye! He just dropped her off and popped away without a by-your-leave.

Rank Bastard.

She shivered at the feel of him from behind her, though. Bastard, maybe, but Oh GOD, what a Lover.

Besides, it wasn't as if they were in any other kind of relationship. Sex and education, that was it. It was nearly funny, actually. Who'd have thought she'd be getting better sex from Snape than from a virile boy her own age? It actually begged to point out that sex just for the sake of sex was pointless unless one was attracted to the person you were having it with. And _that_ made her wonder about the potion he'd used. Did that make _anyone_ want you or just someone who would have already wanted you, want you more?

That made her sit up. Did she really want Snape or was that due to some weird lasting after-effect of his potion? Did it matter? They were having a good time, nothing more. Did it matter why?

She was Hermione Bloody Granger. Of course it bloody mattered _Why._

Fuck.

* * *

"—I thought my eyes would bleed out of my head."

"Did you see his face?"

"I was too busy looking at hers."

"I don't think I can look at any of them with a straight—"

"Hullo, boys."

They stopped midstride and midsentence as if hitting a brick wall.

Harry recovered quickly, seeing her sitting there on the stump, waiting for them. "Hermione, you'll never guess—"

"The _weirdest_ thing _ever_ just happened."

She gave her best curious and confused look and stood up to walk over to them. "Well?"

They looked her over for a moment, then both burst forth at the same time, "Snape and _McGonagall_!"

She blinked with appropriate consternation. "Did they do something?"

Ron snarked, "Did they ever!"

"Ron…"

"Harry, c'mon, we should tell her."

"I dunno…it's weird."

"Well, I think she should know. She needs to know what to look out for."

If she hadn't known what was going on already she wouldn't be any more confused than she was now. "What are you two going on about? What do I need to look out for?"

"Snape's got a thing for you."

"What?"

"Ron, I dunno, it didn't seem entirely—"

"Well, what else, then, Harry? She's polyjuiced up just like our Hermione and he's bangin' away at her back door. She calls _him _kinky right in front of us."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "Oh for heaven's sake, Ronald."

"What? I'm just sayin'—"

Harry interrupted, "Actually, Ron, what she said was that it was 'kinky enough _for_ _her'_ which is entirely different."

* * *

A/N - Well, my lovelies - To Be Continued! I may actually have a smallish plot brewing, but don't worry! Smut is round the corner!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer Ch.1

* * *

Harry and Ron sheared by an inch of missing detentions with McGonagall from the looks they'd been giving her in class. Poor thing, she'd had no idea but played beautifully into the part by some fateful circumstance or another and they dared not act up in Snape's class.

Snape, on the other hand, acted up aplenty.

He _knew_ her itch was growing and he made no move to help her. Not even when she deliberately sabotaged a simple potion. He simply looked down his obscenely sexy nose at her and pronounced to the class that the school know-it-all couldn't get a simple hydrating draught right. Predictably, the Slytherins laughed. Harry and Ron just looked at him like he was a chimera. A really nasty chimera with mange and fleas. And a bowel problem.

She sort of felt the same way.

Didn't he want to…didn't he want her? Didn't he have an itch to scratch, too?

And then, how would she find out if she really liked him or if it was a side effect of the potion unless she could ask him about it? It wasn't as if she could just mention it in class: _Oh, by the by, Professor, I read in Ars Alchemae about a roofy potion you probably invented. Does it have any lasting effects? _

Right. Gold star on that one.

She found herself wandering down the dungeons after dinner, morosely casting Disillusionment charms as she went. Face it, Granger, you had great sex with him and now he's not interested in you anymore.

Rank Bastard.

She kicked a loose bit of stone down the corridor which would have given away her charm except there was no one else around.

She sighed. No one at all and she was perfectly alone in the dungeons. Where _he_ should be.

"Oh, come now, it's not _that_ bad, now, is it?" _His _voice echoed in the hallway all around her.

She whirled around, wand at the ready, but saw no one. He laughed that dark, evil chuckle—the one she'd only ever heard as he'd walked away from the fir copse. "Professor Snape?"

"And what if it's not?"

"I know it's you." She did. She knew that voice backwards and forwards now. Oh, wait, what if someone were using that charm he'd used on her…

"Do you, really? This could be interesting. How?"

She stopped and thought for a moment. How did she know it was him and not someone trying to trick her? She closed her eyes and listened. Breathing could be anyone. No noise other than that. She sniffed the air…aha. "I smell you."

There was such a pause that she was afraid she'd probably offended him so she moved on to explain, "There's something—" well, she wouldn't use the word _rose_ in a description of _Snape_, not aloud, "Floral, cream…and…musky." She would _not_ say yum. Definitely not. "I associate those scents with Professor Snape."

"And do you make it a habit to memorize the scent of everyone you know?"

"Not in general, just…some people. Ron smells like grass. Harry smells like leather."

"Are you only smelling the male population, Miss Granger?"

Like hell she'd tell _him_ that! "Oh, would you stop with the sneaking around and come out already?"

With a whisper, he stood directly in front of her, arching that brow of his superciliously. She stumbled backwards a step but stopped herself. What was he playing at? So she asked him.

"I, Miss Granger? I do not play."

"Yes you do."

He squinted his eyes and heaven help her she wanted him to do _something_ that acknowledged they'd been together. It was the only reason she could think of for her to keep pushing him like this.

"As I'm sure you had no intention of telling me that you know me better than I know myself, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself."

Oh, she wanted to slap that expression off his face! Fine. He wanted to play bastard, she could be a bitch right back. "What else are you doing with me, then? I doubt very highly it's for anything more than play." There, stuff that in your trousers and shag it, Professor Snape.

There was a slight tilt in is expression, something he was very, very good at, that took his face from disdainful and sneering to sexy and interested in a heartbeat. Something about his lips and his eyebrows. She shook her head and scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Touche, Miss Granger."

Yeah, she'd thought so. Well, it seemed that now was as good a time as any to ask him, "Professor, that potion you used—"

He interrupted loudly, "And what are you doing out of your dormitory this late at night, Granger? My office. Immediately." Without a word, he swept away from her, but she soon became aware of Filch shifting up the corridor, leering at her. Yergh.

She slipped through the gap in the Potions Room door and wended her way through the desks to his office. He was sitting in his chair behind the now-straightened desk as if he was actually the headmaster and she really was a recalcitrant student. Irritated, and without asking permission, she strode over to one of the leather chairs facing his desk and commandeered a seat, crossing her legs and placing a hand on each arm.

His eyebrow twitched. She smiled and shifted her legs a little. His attention engaged a little lower down her body. Hmm. She ran a hand up her bare leg and pulled her skirt up into her lap. His nothing eyes began to fill.

"Professor?"

"What."

She grinned. He was either entranced or irritated. Or both. "That potion you used on me, does it have any lasting effects?" She slipped her hand to the backside of her leg and ran it up to her rear where it met the leather chair.

"If you're asking if the lust you feel between us if manufactured by that potion _now_ I assure you, it wore off thirty minutes after the first spray. You are attracted to me, Granger, believe it or not."

Hmm. Sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that one, but honestly, it was surprising for her, too. Then again, the human brain did amazing things when triggered right. Still, had to get a bit of her own back, "Just as you are to me."

"As unlikely as it seems, yes."

"Then what about the smells?"

He stopped his perusal of her legs and slammed his dark, voided eyes up to meet hers. "What do you mean, exactly?"

She felt a bit pinned, but she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. "Those smells I told you I associated with you?" He nodded, "I've only known them to be associated with you since our first time. In the alcove."

He narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair.

She waited.

"Did you taste anything when I sprayed you?"

She blinked. "No. I remember nothing of a taste from the potion."

He nodded and leaned his chin into his right hand, fingers coming across his mouth in contemplation as he stared her down. "When did you lose your virginity?"

Her mouth dropped open at the unexpected question, but she knew he had a reason to ask or he wouldn't. "This l-last summer."

"And did you have much sexual interest before this last summer?"

She blinked rapidly, trying to think back. She'd been attracted to boys, repeatedly and for years, but never with a strong sexual urge as she had started to then. "You're saying that proximity and age have more to do with it than the potion?"

"I believe so. Despite our…close encounters before, I think you weren't sexually developed enough, then."

She dropped her head back in the chair and let out a shuddering breath of relief and beginning desire. Shortly, her hands started unbuttoning her blouse, leaving her red and gold tie in place.

"Does that answer your concerns, Miss Granger?"

She reached the last button and shrugged out of the blouse, crushing it into the seat behind her. "Yes." He was watching with avid attention. She dropped one shoulder of her brassiere, then the next, and palmed the lacey cups over her breasts. Somehow, it felt that much naughtier to know that she actually _wanted_ this man, rather than having some potion-induced lust. Perhaps her dreams would start back tonight. She smiled and pulled the brassiere down to hold her naked breasts for him to see between her fingers.

His own chair shifted and she heard fabric moving. She angled up just enough to see that he'd brought that lovely cock out and was playing with it just for her. Hah. Not bloody likely. He was playing with it just for him, surely, but it was still lovely to watch.

She smirked, stood up, and started slipping her panties down, only to turn around and show him her bottom as she bent over and followed them all the way down her legs. He was plunging into her before she reached her ankles.

"Mmmmm." Yes, just like in the tunnel, but without any weird voices or interference. She reached for the chair to brace herself as he started pushing harder and faster, digging short nails into her backside. She arched her back and pushed a bit back into him, he smacked her left cheek.

"Hold still."

"I'm not one of your drugged-up alcove girls."

"No, you're not, but if you want me to last long enough to finish you, you'll hold still, maddening wench."

She felt the evil smirk steal across her face and Lillith knows where she got the knowledge, but she shifted just a bit, arched a bit, and he was yelling himself complete. That alone sent her over the edge and she felt herself clamp down over him, both of them pulsing their satiation into the room with grunts and groans.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head to meet his, mouth to ear. "I wanted to take longer than that."

"And I wanted to see if I could really make you come."

"Relentless Bitch."

"Selfish Bastard."

He chuckled and straightened out of her, smoothing her skirt down and kneeling to lift her panties, sliding them up her legs. He reached over and picked up her shirt to hand it to her.

"I trust you are scratched?"

"For now. You?"

He actually lifted a corner of his mouth. "For now."

* * *

That night she did dream.

She was walking down the main corridor to the Great Hall, everyone was, and Snape shoved her into the wall, kissing her madly. No one watched, or paid attention, but the thrill of the entire school being right there as the two of them progressed from snogging to him exposing her breasts and fondling them before God and Country was deeply erotic to her.

His hands slid beneath her skirt to hike her leg up around his hip and shove her skirt up for everyone to see—everyone still not looking—that she wasn't wearing any panties. And right there, right as she didn't think she could take any more exposure, he'd finger-fuck her right there on the wall, whispering dark things to her until she screamed.

She was rather pleased that her dreams helped take the edge off her need for Snape until the girls in her dorm started yarning about the Yule Ball coming up in a few weeks. That seemed to create some sort of schism in her dream world and everything started going to pot.

The dream started with her entering the ball between the boys, but Harry and Ron never looked at her, never stayed by her side and kept wandering off, regardless of the rather racy black dress she'd found herself to be wearing. In fact, it seemed to be a theme that no one was paying her any attention at all. She walked up to the teachers, they talked as if she wasn't there. She spoke to Ginny and that was like speaking to a wall. Nothing. She started panicking, hyperventilating, until the room started spinning and she knew she needed some fresh air. Nearly to tears, she teetered out into the hedgerow garden just off the Great Hall on impossibly tall heels and ran completely into Snape. She literally bounced off of him and would have fallen if he'd not grabbed her arms and swung her into a waltz.

The only thing that even kept her grounded, kept her from waking, shrieking from the nightmare was the deep abyss of his regard. He would not look away from her. Everyone spoke to him, tried to get his attention, but he completely ignored them for her. For _her. _

The dance ended, they shifted round a hedge and his strong, deft hands coasted up her arms and into her hair, pulling her into a kiss.

Dumbledore called to him, they twisted away and around another hedge.

He laved her neck, just below her ear, right where he liked it. His hands slipped the tiny strap of her dress off and cupped one shoulder, held her there, caressing the sensitive skin there with his calloused thumb.

McGonagall came round the corner.

She gasped, he shifted, they were around another hedge. Farther and farther into the hedge maze they went, more people called to him, saw them, interrupted them just before something progressed into something satisfying.

Voldemort was the last interruption before she finally woke up crying in frustration, somewhere between fear, guilt, anger, need, and overwhelmingly unsatisfied lust.

God, what was she going to do? She stared up into the bed hangings, tears leaking out the sides of her eyes and dribbling into her ears. This was ridiculous, the dream was obvious. She wanted his undivided attention and knew she wasn't going to get it. That was the whole rush behind this assignation, that they weren't tied to each other that way. They were just…convenient for each other.

Dammit. Why did her heart have to get involved with this? There was no _way_ she was going to…No, he'd cut her off in a heartbeat and go back to raping unsuspecting girls in her classes. She couldn't even call it rape now that she knew how good of a lover he was, that he was considerate—in his own, perverse, sort of way. Well, _she_ might not, but what if it were Luna…or Cho? What if next year it were Ginny? Did he stay away from girls that were already involved with someone? What had made him choose _her_, anyway?

Too many questions the night before a Transfigurations exam. She punched her pillow and willed herself into at least a clear mind for meditation, if not sleep, reciting the rules and procedures needed for the exam tomorrow.

* * *

She was _hunting_ him. There was no other way he could describe it. At first, it was amusing and he'd taken advantage to have her so near, so often, but her appearances in so many locations about his own quickly became caging. It had to stop, if only to keep from arousing suspicion.

She'd been following him to his ingredients storage when he slipped in before she got too close. Just as she was about to knock, he yanked the door open and jerked her inside.

She stumbled across the threshold and landed against the worktable.

"You really ought to practice caution when following me, Miss Granger."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"I'm tired of your spying or lovesickness or whatever it is that has you doggedly shadowing me every where I go. It needs to stop this instant or _we_ stop this instant, is that clear?"

Her mouth dropped open and gave him mind to make use of that orifice for something they'd not had circumstance to yet. Before he made a complete fool of himself to his own lust, he maintained his sneer and waited for her response.

It was most certainly _not_ what he expected.

She reared back and slapped him. Hard. "I am NOT a DOG! Nor am I a spy or a lovesick fool over YOU!"

He shifted his jaw, actually reveling in the stinging pain wrapping around his face for a moment before it settled into the deeper ache that would later bruise. He snapped his eyes to hers and pointed to the door, "Then why the hell were you following me?"

"I—" She flustered, blundered, "I wanted—don't we—?"

His eyebrows met in the middle and tried desperately to climb his forehead, "Are you telling me you want me that desperately that you follow me about looking for an opportune time to fuck me?" When she didn't answer, probably out of pride, he conjectured something different, "Or perhaps you would rather completely irritate me into new behavior?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Not yet, you're not." He darted an arm forward and grabbed a handful of her bushy hair, shoving her down, "Kneel, Hermione. Show me what your intentions really are."

She struggled, but only until he said for her to kneel. She went down and glared up at him when he told her to show him her intentions. "I don't have any intentions to blow your knob with you being such a bastard. That's something I only do for _nice_ boys. You'd probably not want my _teeth_ near _that_ right now, Professor."

If she hadn't been talking about biting his dick, he'd have been impressed. As it was, she needed to be punished, reprimanded in some way, for calling him a bastard to his face.

He held on to that hank of frizzy hair and bent down mercilessly over her, pulling her backwards to keep her eyes level with his as he went. "I'm a bastard, am I?"

He'd laced every cyanide-smooth tone in his possession into that question and it was finally registering across her brain what she'd done. "I—"

He cut her off with a yank to her hair. "Shut up. You haven't seen me at my worst, little brat, but you perversely seem to want to." He watched his words play across her expressions. "Don't you?"

She was thinking furiously, he could see that much. She opened her mouth once, twice, the third time he was ready to snark something about fish, but she spoke a tiny little question he'd really not wanted to hear, "Why did you pick me?"

Shocked, he abruptly let go of her and stepped completely away, even went so far as to back up against the shelves behind him. He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking over all of the different avenues and ramifications of every possible meaning of that question. He picked the worst answer, designed to hurt and humiliate, even possibly to drive her away. "Because you looked like you needed a good fucking." He paused for effect. "The high and mighty Hermione Granger was a thorn in my side that needed to be plucked and what better way to pluck it than to fuck it?"

He'd expected emotion, but not the controlled roiling rocking the vials and jars back and forth on their shelves for a brief moment before she stood. She was actually quite devastating in her anger, chin jutted forward, lip curled, eyes bright with tears, fists clenched at her sides…

He watched her cautiously as she swept out of the room without another word.

That went both better and worse than he'd thought it would. He only had to dart forward and catch one vial to keep it from dropping to its demise on the stone floor.

* * *

She wanted to kill him. She wanted to rip his lungs out and feed them to the giant squid…or maybe pluck out each of his oily hairs and lace his eyeballs to his genitals with them. GOD! Something to make her feel vindicated against such evil, horrible words! What was she doing lusting after such a man? No wonder no-one ever came near him, he really was as vile as everyone said.

She'd just started to think otherwise, that was all.

The bastard.

Tears rolled freely down her face as she wound her way up the changing staircases up to Gryffindor Tower. Where she belonged.

* * *

A/N: So what do you say? Does it end here? Let me know if you want more, I've got some ideas I can keep shoveling ;) I actually do consider this to be complete, however, so I don't think there will be more chapters, but perhaps a sequel... YOU TELL ME! :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: BY POPULAR DEMAND! The continuation of SYI and the absolutely final and really real ending for a complete total of six chapters. You may commence reading chapter four now:

* * *

_"The high and mighty Hermione Granger was a thorn in my side that needed to be plucked and what better way to pluck it than to fuck it?"_

The hated words echoed in her ears every night before she went to sleep and every moment's respite she had, bringing her to a trembling, shaking, angry mass too sensitive to touch, too incensed to speak. Her only answer to control herself was the same it had always been and the same that had apparently led him to her: she'd bury herself in academia.

She was too smart for his liking? Too bad. She spent more time in the library, reading up on every potion, every ingredient she could so he could never catch her unawares in class again.

She was too questioning? Too engaged in class? Very well, she could learn to shut up…in his class at least. Why would she want his attention anymore, anyway? That didn't mean she wouldn't throw herself into every other class discussion she could to keep herself from daydreaming about every touch or breath or shudder he'd ever produced on her body.

And if Harry and Ron distanced themselves a bit over her new hyde-like behavior, not understanding why she was snappish and rude when she wasn't completely ignoring them, well, then, so be it. If she learned nothing else from her time with _him_ it was that she was perfectly fine on her own.

Alone.

Like right now, at Saturday luncheon.

The boys made some excuse to head out to the Quidditch pitch for practice early and made it clear they felt she should stay behind. Fine. She pushed her peas around on her plate and tried to make a pea-pyramid with her fork just to pass the time and use up her concentration in some other way than going back to library. Despite _his_ opinion, even _she_ got tired of reading sometimes.

"Hermione?"

She blinked and looked up to her right. "Oh, hi, Neville."

"May I sit with you for a bit?"

"Of course." This should be interesting. Then again, maybe he just needed her help remembering something. Or maybe not. He'd been improving rather well over the years.

"I—" He looked down the table and Colin motioned to him encouragingly. Hermione started to get a suspicion in her mind where this was going and started forming a response—

"I know you've been going through a rough bit, and I don't know who it's over, but if you're not going to the Yule Ball with anyone, would you mind going with me…" He swallowed, "A-as just friends?"

If there had been any flies permitted in the Great Hall they would have taken up residence in her mouth. She just stared at him, shell-shocked at his insight. She took a deep breath and stared at the fork poised over her gang of peas, trying to think of what to say.

"It's okay, I understand." He started shifting off, but she reached out and grabbed his arm by the sweater.

"Wait, Neville!"

He sat back down with a bit of a plop and looked back at her, confusion and curiosity evident.

"I'd love to go to the Ball with you…" She winced, looked down at her plate and back over to him through her bangs, "have I really been that…obvious? You're being incredibly sweet, but…" Was he pitying her?

"Oh! No!" His face shook, smiled, then shook again. "No, it's not like that! I just thought it'd be nice to show a strong front to whoever set you on your ear, that's all." He looked over her shoulder but back to her before she could see who he'd glanced at. "I know how it feels, only."

She was trying very hard not to cry. "Neville, you're the best!" She hugged him fiercely and they discussed that next Friday. She'd not forgotten that he was one of the ones that smelled like that musky-yum, but it reminded her so much of _him_ she couldn't possibly deviate her thoughts of Neville in that direction.

Sadly.

* * *

_"Why did you pick me?"_

How _dare_ she ask him such an impertinent question! It made him think about the whim choices he'd made before, circumstance, ease, availability…never such vindictive focus as with her. Or if he had made vindictive choices, the circumstances had been _entirely_ different.

She invaded his mind more than he felt safe acknowledging. Witch, in more ways than one, for there'd been no spells or incantations on her part. Just pure, unadulterated lust and it had been, as she'd said, _entirely his own fault._

That made the necessary excising of the festering need for her that much more difficult…irritating…painful. He gritted his teeth and made a few more third-years quail before him. Bitch. He couldn't even find the focus to hunt down another seventh-year to take her out of his mind, the feel of her off of his body.

DAMN it all! And Damn HER!

He swept into his office and caught sight of himself in a mirror. THE mirror. The one that could get him sacked for her viewing his mark on her neck from their first free and conscious night together.

The first consensual sex he'd had in decades.

He sneered, the maudlin thought sending him striding to the mirror and ripping it from its hook on the wall. He nearly hurled it across the room, but superstition checked him. Walking sedately with the mirror held at fingertips over to his desk…the one he probably needed to replace now because he couldn't look at it without thinking about her…he sat down and looked into it.

Would it play the scene for him? How much would it play? He let himself have a moment of weakness, told himself it was cursory self-preservation to find out, and let the scene play before him.

She was…

He pulled his fingers away from the mirror and watched impassively.

The mirror was angled more dangerously than he'd thought, for just as he'd noticed he was admiring her backside as she stalked towards him at his desk, he noticed he tenor of the conversation the mirror was catching. It wasn't damning enough that this mirror held information on their liaison, but her spilling his trysting secrets to the open air as well?

He chucked the mirror into an ingredient bin, muttering _obliterate_ as he did so. It shattered into a satisfying array of shards, but started repeating the last bit of conversation he wanted to hear:

"_point at me all you like…yourself to blame…neatly…__your__fault.__your__fault.__your__fault.__your__fault. __your__fault."_

He glared and shrieked _"Incendio!"_ at the offending pieces of glass, blasting it into a molten pile of nothing.

There. Much better.

Now the only danger to himself was his own mind and the possibility of Granger running to Dumbledore, but he rather thought she wouldn't. She was too Gryffindor for that.

* * *

Hermione _was_ too Gryffindor. She'd not made him promise never to touch a seventh-year again, just only when he was with her. And the tenor of their agreement wasn't that she would rat on him as soon as it was over, either. She just couldn't bring herself to do it, no matter how much seeing him every day made her ache, burn, tremor…cry.

She was starting to miss him, and it wasn't fair. He'd had NO RIGHT to say those awful words to her and she'd started having a terrible suspicion that he'd said them on purpose. That he'd been scared.

Just as scared as she was.

So she made plans with Neville for both of them to be in their very finest. Hermione was better at Transfiguration, and as such, was given the task of improving their wardrobe. She'd set him up with a smart set of dress robes in a dark navy velvet trimmed in the tiniest matching blue satin cord. The cut was acquired from the latest _Witch Weekly: Fashion Edition_ and she hoped it would suit him well. It was to be layered over black silk trousers and shirt along with a navy blue tie. She shrugged and left the rest of the details for his fitting.

_Her_ dress, however, was going to be _smashing_. Black lace, looking slightly tattered and torn, swirled in a tornado around dark navy silk cutaway at opportune places on a column dress. Tiny spaghetti straps, a draped neckline far too low for her mother's standards and black stilettos wrapped it all together with Midnight Orchids charmed into her hair.

She dressed herself and sent Neville his clothing from the common room.

"Hermione! You look amazing!"

She turned to find Ginny in an absolutely elegant white-gold gown, showing off her subtle curves. She smiled and peeked at Harry who looked a bit bowled over and Ron, who looked a bit torn between murderous and proud.

"Thank you, so do you!"

Harry stepped forward and smiled. "We weren't sure you were going."

"I know." From his expression, that had been surprising for her to admit that, but she continued, "I'm sorry. I'm working on that."

He beamed at her and carefully gave her a hug, which she carefully returned. After all, the Ball hadn't even begun and it wouldn't do to ruin the finery!

A cleared throat interrupted them from behind her. She turned and _blushed_ at the sight Neville made. "Well, you look _dashing_, sir!"

He grinned, blushed back and looked at the floor. "Thanks to you."

She eyed him to make sure of any last minute changes, "Let's make sure it fits."

"You did this, Hermione?"

She didn't answer Lavender, but Neville gushed about it. Said he'd never seen anything like it. They all congratulated her on her prowess, but she just smiled her thanks and tweaked his attire to make sure he looked perfect. "There. All done."

Everyone took that as cue to set out for the Great Hall but Neville hung back. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

He faced her fully. "I really want to thank you for this. It makes me feel good."

She smiled, "You know what they say, clothes make the man."

"No…I mean…to know you did this for me. It means a lot. Thanks."

She started panicking, wondering if he was going to start in on her, but she took a breath and decided to take it at face value. She smiled, "Neville, you did a lot for me by pointing out that I needed to 'put on a strong front' and sharing that you knew what it felt like. Love and war makes for kindred spirits, don't they?"

He smiled and she knew she'd said the right thing, took it the right way. "Yeah, they do."

They entered the Great Hall with a resounding success, chins up, smiles plastered on and never missing a step thanks to Hermione's whispered secret counting trick to Neville. One-and-step, two-and-step, etc. All eyes were on them as they descended the staircase and it felt glorious.

She didn't even scan the crowd for _him_. It didn't matter, but she was fairly sure he was looking, as there was a fairly dark figure in the corner of her eye at the high table standing absolutely still and facing them. It soon moved out the side door. She nearly giggled at the thought that she'd nearly called _him—Snape—_an IT.

It felt good to finally call him by his name in her head. Snape. Snape, Snape, Snape.

There.

She was no longer a quivering mass of goo at the sound of his name.

She smiled and proceeded to flirt her Sleekeazy curls off.

* * *

"Well, that's been going much better than expected."

Hermione bent over a balustrade and took a deep breath of fresh air, grinning at her dancing partner. "I'll say! Parvati and Susan can't take their eyes off of you."

She couldn't tell, but he seemed to be blushing. "Is it one of them?"

He stiffened.

"I'm sorry. It's not my place." He kept quiet. "I tell you what though—"

"My, my. Isn't this the lovely pair?" Hermione snapped her head around in horror. NO! Not HIM. Not Snape, and not NOW. "Out for a moonlight serenade, Longbottom?"

"I-I—"

How could he be so cruel? She mentally kicked herself. Why did she think anything better of him? "It's not against school rules for students to get some fresh air, _Professor._"

"This is true, but I wonder at the pretense of obtaining it?"

The insidious scent of him curled around her and she shrank back against Neville. She would _not _be reduced back to where she was after having such a wonderfully normal time tonight! Not after the lengths Neville had gone to for her!

She shivered as memories of _him _poured into her mind…was he doing that? No, she'd always felt him riffling around. This was entirely her own unjustifiable desire leftover, unsatisfied, however unwanted it was.

Neville tensed and she remembered how he had stood up to the her, Harry and Ron in first year, stood by them in so many other escapades, proving his worth as a Gryffindor, especially in his fear of Snape. If she revealed herself and her vulnerability to either of them now, Neville would only get hurt. She needed to face Snape, but without Neville.

Glaring daggers at her loathsome lover, she pulled Neville back into the Hall. "Let's go. The air out here's not so clean anymore."

She barely heard him call after her, "Watch your tongue, Granger."

She had to get him out of here. Now. Then she'd figure out how to deal with…whatever it was about Snape that would not leave her alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Stupid Cow! Relentless Bitch! Perfidious, inconsistent, grasping little Mudblood! How _dare she!_

He stood, raging in stillness at the balustrade for several minutes, watching from the shadows as she and Longbottom spoke at length, traveled across the Hall to where some of their age were seated and then she did something that made him want to eviscerate them both where they stood. She kissed him.

On the mouth, the slut!

Nevermind the indignity, he climbed over the darkest corner of the balustrade and strode across the sloping hillside towards the dungeons. He didn't even glance at their alcove, regardless that it burned him, beckoned him as he stalked by it.

This behavior, these thought processes were completely unacceptable! He was acting jealous! Possessive! Obsessed! True, he'd shown ability to harbor these emotions before, but he'd quashed those demons so deep in his soul and so long ago, they'd have to invent something to rip them forward again.

He slammed open the side entrance and was distracted by several sets of students found quite on their way to their own base acts. He dispersed them and marched into his rooms without a backwards glance. He'd nearly gotten the door shut when he was shoved forward, much to his surprise and didn't even get his hand on his wand before someone growled, "_Incarcerous_!"

He fell to the floor hard on his side, dumbfounded at the familiarity of the voice. There was no possibility she could have followed him here. She'd have had to see him leave the balcony…

She shut the door behind her and he heard his own key click into place, then chink onto the hard marble of the table where he, himself kept it, right next to the door.

"Anything to say before I gag you, Professor?"

His mind reeled at that sentence coming out of her mouth. She stalked up in hard shoes on the hard, cold floor and toed him onto his back, then squatted down and patted the ropes on his chest.

"Mmm? Anything? Last words? Last requests?"

He had no earthly idea what she was about, so he just lay there and stared at her as if she were completely mad. Perhaps she was. She certainly had the feverishly bright tint to her eyes that usually bespoke madness and Merlin knew he'd seen enough of that to know what it looked like.

He had a vague notion of her among those ranks and cringed. Really cringed.

She tilted her head to the side, close to a shoulder, but kept her eyes on him. "Nothing? You sure?" She stood up, taking her skirt up with her and his thoughts immediately dissolved along that path. She stopped at decency but her hands were busy underneath the gown, reaching.

His heart pitched a beat faster. Would she…?

She smiled and raised a brow, watching his face as she went back down her legs and stepped one stiletto-shod foot and then another out of a pair of tiny, silken, black panties. He blinked slowly, his mouth starting to open, starting to form something, some kind of words…

"Ah-ah-ah!" She chided, then lifted her skirt to her knees and knelt to straddle him. He groaned at the heat of her! "No more talking. I gave you three chances and now you can forever," she lifted his head and slid one leg of her panties over his head, "hold," she tied a slip-knot, "your peace." He was successfully gagged with women's knickers.

He'd never wanted to fuck her so badly in their entire affaire.

"You say too many _nasty_ things anyway to allow even your tongue free reign, regardless of how good you are with it." She kissed his upper and lower lips separately, chastely, maddeningly, and stood up.

He made a strangled noise of complaint in the back of his throat. She laughed. "Well, you're pretty still, now, so _Mobilicorpus_."

He felt the very odd sensation of being bodily levitated off the cold floor but she just let him hang there.

"Hmm. I guess I should find your bedroom, first. I do hope you have posts. It will be _so _much easier that way."

Just the thought of the innuendo of that statement made him shudder and she very nearly dropped him. She laughed again, this time nearly cruel. "Ah, I see you were right about needing to be still. Imagine that, Professor." She walked closer to him and he didn't know if it was better or worse, knowing she was within sight. Before, he could imagine her a right virago, a towering spire of strength. Now, it was easy to see the curls of hair slipping their potion, the maquillage slightly slipping beneath her eyes and slightly denuded at her mouth. And for all her visual faults, it made it harder for him to hate her with every passing moment.

_That _realization made him angry.

She had no right to steal into his rooms and tie him up, no right to play with him. _He_ was the one with all the rights, all the power, not _her!_

This school and the students herein were the only strengths he had left to him, that and the power of his own mind and she was breaking everything but that away from him. The thought panicked him, boiled rage down into his gut and he bit into the silk between his teeth, tasting her in the back of his throat.

She was stealing every ounce of him, even trying to pervade his mind and by the Dark Lord Himself, he WAS NOT going to permit it!

He started struggling in his confines, knowing he would fall. She simply stepped away, had been watching his face this whole time, and let him. Bitch!

And of course, she resolved the situation nicely with a very cold "_Stupefy_!"

* * *

He awoke tied rather neatly to his own bed. Yes, did have posts, and yes, they were for just such an occasion and no, they hadn't been used as such in a very, very long time, and oh Merlin he was NAKED.

How did she do that with him Stupefied? Nevermind, there were countless ways, charms, etcetera that she could have used, but the main thought was that he could move his head now, his body only being restrained at the hands and feet, and she was nowhere in the room.

Did she just want to leave him here like this?

No. Her panties were still in his mouth. Firstly, he couldn't call out to anyone, and secondly, they were evidence against them both.

She must be coming back unless she'd actually cracked and was planning on leaving school early.

The thought concerned him. Had he really pushed her that far? He stopped the ridiculous thought and rolled his eyes. Oh, for crying out loud, why was he getting so bothered over her choices? He had no control over that. Except there was a very real possibility of her going completely barking mad and doing him serious harm…

No.

Not her.

Except all the symptoms were there.

She'd accepted things no one else ever had, with an astounding ease. She followed him about, lurking around every corner and for some reason, thought him good enough for that intense regard of hers. Him. The one children fled from in the corridors, the one people young and old called nasty names behind his back and shied away from if he stood too near.

He'd actually learned to use that against them. All. Every last one of them received the verbal lashing he'd grown so good at, the poise he'd cultivated after so many years of being shunned.

Some people grew into themselves under such dark scrutiny. He threw it back in their faces.

_She, _on the other hand, took it and lapped it up like cream. And he, in turn, had been swept away in the tide of that feeling of being wanted, regardless of being a complete and utter bastard.

In fact, the worse he was to her, until that day in the inventory closet, the more she gave back. It had been one of the most intoxicating experiments of his life.

He shook his head against he pillow, staring up at the dark green canopy above him. She'd shocked the hell out of him when she'd asked him why he'd picked her. He'd not liked the answer.

The answer he'd given her was the complete truth and _that_ was what he didn't like. Because somewhere after plucking the thorn, the rose had started to grow.

He snorted. _He_ must be the one going mad. He started laughing, harsh mocking laughter, choking on his own spit that he couldn't quite swallow right with the panties tied up in his mouth. His whole body shook with the absurdity of it. Was he totally deranged? Since when did Severus Snape fall into his own trap?

Stupid, stupid wizard.

Held captive by an eighteen year old witch.

* * *

A/N - Short! I know! but keep reading! It gets better *evil grin*


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is the final and absolute ending chapter of SYI.

* * *

Hermione watched from the door as he laughed. It disturbed her, surely, but she wasn't going to let him know that. It had taken every last ounce of Godric Gryffindor's bestowed bravery to do what she'd done so far and she was not going to let the opportunity go to waste.

"Glad to see you're awake."

He relaxed into the bed and rolled his head to meet her eyes. His nothing eyes did their best dementor imitation and tried to suck at her soul but she knew her own little "Ridikulus" charm on this nasty boggart.

"I took the liberty of warding the room, so any noise we make will just bounce back at us." She smiled the cold, dark smile she'd grown in the past few hours ever since she realized that whether she liked it or not, she'd never want to be rid of this man. "I didn't think you'd mind."

His eyes narrowed, clearly conveying he knew perfectly well both the basic reason of why she did it and that he'd not had much—she smirked—say in the matter.

Satisfied, she stalked over in her heels, loving the intimidating sound of them on the stone floor and watched him every step of the way. She reached the bed, hitched up her skirts so she could crawl up beside him and worked her way around to straddle him.

From the looks of things on her way over and the feel of things beneath her now, she wasn't entirely unwelcome. Not. At. All.

She lifted herself delicately and shifted her hips just a tad so she could center the very hottest and wettest part of her nether-lips directly on the middle of his upwardly-pointing cock.

His eyes closed, his nostrils took in great amount of air and his cheeks sucked in around her panty-gag. It felt fantastically satisfying to see him at her mercy like this, but…she shook her head.

Where to start?

It was extremely tempting just to see if she could ride him—first, she'd never been allowed the upper hand with him and second, it would allow her to watch but not touch and knowing he was denied the same was somehow sadistically empowering.

He watched her, his breathing starting to hitch. With a curl of her hips, she lifted herself and, using only her hips and his ever-hardening erection, maneuvered herself onto him. After making sure she was good and centered over the tip of him, she plunged home, keeping tight hold of her skirts at her thighs.

They both shuddered and groaned, though she couldn't tell which of them was louder.

Two weeks. Two bloody weeks without this. They'd gone longer but somehow knowing she couldn't have it made her want it all the more. She let her inner muscles shift over him, growing accustomed to him at this new angle and smacked him on the face when he pushed up into her.

"My turn. You hold still."

He growled.

"I can make this easy for both of us and use your little rape potion. I found it while you were knocked out."

She made sure the threat carried through to her eyes and looked menacingly over to the side table, indicating the small atomizer there. There was no bluffing with this man. You either did it or you never said you would. He dropped his hips and the friction nearly drove her off the edge.

She caressed the cheek she'd offended and murmured, "Good boy."

Lord, but his nostrils got huge when he was angry! She had an urge to lean forward and lick at the tip of his nose again but this first fuck was supposed to be for her. No touching for other than correction.

She straightened back up and let herself push down as far on him as she could go, stopped to let herself become accustomed to him again, then pushed farther. He glared quiet anger at her the entire time.

It was amazing how _full_ he made her feel. She ground her hips forward, kind of a pelvic thrust like he used but with more of a tilt. Those angry eyes closed and she saw his uneven teeth bared a bit under his gag-parted lips. Delicious.

She did it again. He made a sound, somewhere between a call and a grunt. Her breathing sped up and she smiled, found a rhythm and ground her clitoris into the new rocking position as well.

Fairly soon, she was clawing at his chest, leaving red marks from his shoulders to just above his nipples and properly riding him with all her might. Every time she tightened her inner thighs to lift, it squeezed her that much closer to coming and every time she shuddered down onto him, he howled from behind his panty-gag louder and louder until finally…

He shot up into her so hot and so fierce she just couldn't help but come right along with him. She rode her way down, milking him, letting her body take it all in, spasming shocks pulsing down along her spine and legs forcing her to finally give up all separation and lay down over him to rest.

* * *

He'd been lulled into a torpor by her warmth and susurrations and even found himself to be enjoying her little movements against him when she finally came around. What jarred him fully aware was when she moved her hands to his head and started pulling the gag out. His long hair pulled and yanked at the ears and straggled forward as she drew the silk off, cutting off his vision but he was fairly certain she just tossed the sodden silk over her shoulder from the wet slap against stone. She brushed his hair partially out of his face, bracketed it between her hands and devoured his exhausted mouth with a kiss so deep and breath-stealing, he wondered if she was going to stop or kill him right there.

He almost didn't care.

He'd just had the most disturbing, maddening, superb fuck ever and he could probably die happy right here. Fuck any causes he was tied to, the pleasure his body had just received was the end-all, be-all of everything right now.

Merlin, he hoped she wouldn't turn to espionage, or they'd have him in a trice.

She licked his spit from his face, teethed the end of his nose and writhed against him, still clad in her dress, that scratchy dress that had looked so disgustingly gorgeous on her tonight.

"Take it off."

Her eyes hardened. "Shut up."

"Take your dress off, I want to see you."

"This isn't about you, now, is it? This is for me."

He didn't have to be a bastard. There were times when persuasion worked for him as well, "Then think about how our skin will feel together. Think about how good it will feel to you as you take your pleasure again. Remember it, love."

She'd nearly looked compliant, but snapped her head up at the end, "Shut UP!"

Where was this going? She made no sense whatsoever! "Or what? You'll dose me? I'm inured to it, nitwit, why else would I use it in such close proximity?"

Her lip curled and she sat back, "Ah, but only through inhalation method, am I right? I could make you drink it."

"Not unless you can find a way to pry my mouth open."

She actually seemed to think about that, the brat. "Well, there are shunts for that but there are better ways."

"What?" No, surely…

She reached for the bottle, unscrewed the sprayer and brought the bottle close to her lips, "Bottoms up! I'll kiss you next and we'll both have a good time."

She waited, thank whatever gods were watching him panic. "That is extremely dangerous and you know it."

She moved it a fraction closer to her mouth and he whispered the spell to send him rocketing into her mind. She gasped and dropped the potion onto the bed. It spilled and rolled to the floor, but he didn't care, he just kept driving himself into her mind, trying to make sense of the surface clutter of thoughts flying around her head.

_Untie me._ He pled, demanded. There was enough scent in the air to make her comply but he worried it was also enough to just knock her out.

She blinked instead of closing her eyes. Great Merlin, she was still awake! He pushed through, looking for whatever reason there may be for her to stay awake through any of the doses he'd ever given her, finding nothing but snatches of memory between them.

Her emotion ran so deeply entwined with each memory, it was like being thrown over a waterfall and being beaten down with it before being thrust downstream and over the next waterfall and the next and the next.

He'd never seen anything this intense…

Dear gods, she was in _love_ with him.

He was drowning in her mind, so quickly swept from one maelstrom of passion to another of anger and then another of pent up lust that he'd not noticed her weeping on him, _untying him._

_Get out of my mind!_ She thrust him out with a hard mental shove and he landed, proverbially speaking, back on the bed, at such a loss for words that he just laid there as she finished untying his feet.

She sat at the foot of the bed, trembling, still crying but not looking at him.

This creature…this woman-child…she loved him.

No wonder he'd thought her stark-raving mad.

He slowly sat up in the bed, trying not to let her know he was moving until he was close enough to take hold of her if she tried to run. He still didn't know if that was what he wanted, but how could he not try to grab onto something like this? Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to have her love without knowing if he could give her anything back…but he was known to be a bastard anyway.

The war was still an unknown thing of the future and he'd probably die during the course of it, regardless. He might as well take what he could get.

He reached quietly forward and carefully started unzipping her dress.

She stiffened, sniffled, wiped her face and rounded on him, "What more do you want? You already know everything! Why aren't you kicking me like the lovesick puppy I am?"

Her anger…stopped him, but was justified. He honestly didn't know how to proceed. Severus Snape was in…uncharted waters at this moment.

They just stared at each other. He, slightly open-mouthed and apprehensive; she, indignant and trembling with emotion.

They sat that way for several moments, but Hermione had the courage to break it first. With a sneer and a huff, she started to slide off the bed, but he grabbed her wrist. "Let go of me!"

He jerked her back towards, him, making her land across his lap, "I don't think I will."

"I deserve better than this!"

"Undoubtedly." That shut her up and stopped her yanking with her scratching dress against his sensitive bits, "But what do you _want_?"

Her mouth snapped shut on gritted teeth and she narrowed her eyes to slits, "You bastard!"

He nearly smiled at that, "Ah, but was that a declarative sentence or an accusatory one?"

She didn't speak, just snarled. He scoffed. Maintaining his hold on her wrist, he pulled her up his body and wrapped his other hand around hers to the zipper at her back to finish what he'd started.

Finally, some upper ground. She fought him with her free hand and he brought it up to meet her other, crossing them in his larger grip. He bodily moved her up the bed and used one of the ties she'd used on him to bind her wrists together and sat back to view his handiwork.

She sneered at him, "What good is an unzipped dress when you've tied me up like this, _Professor?_"

He slid his palms down his thighs and leaned in over her, one side of his mouth curled up in a dark smirk. "That depends on how I wish to remove the dress, my dear."

He was rather delighted by the shiver that ran the length of her body.

Reaching across her, he opened the nightstand drawer and breached the safety mechanism for the set of throwing knives he kept there and withdrew the smallest, a three-inch Damascus blade that was actually rather decorative with its swirled and ghosted patterns folded along the shaft of the metal.

"What—what are you—?"

He put the blade against the bed, away from her, then closed his eyes for a bit. That hurt. Did she really think he could be _that_ atrocious? After he'd used a knife to cut her tights off before and didn't leave a scratch on her? "Shh. Nothing to worry about. I'm simply going to expedite the removal of your dress, nothing more."

He slit the two straps and put the once-beautiful bit of metal away back in its locked drawer, but couldn't make himself move much farther than that, still draped over her, knees on one side, hand on the other, torso forming a bridge.

He was about to just untie her and mend her dress when she whispered, "I'm sorry."

His eyes snapped to hers, "About what, exactly?" He might have been less harsh, but then again, she might have been a bit more trusting.

It was hard not to just jump into her mind, but he'd already been beaten about by that riptide and didn't feel like going for another dip. He watched her face mix with mutiny, consternation, pride, and agony only to say,

"For questioning you just now. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He was still bastard enough to ask, "Anything else?"

Her chin jutted up, "No."

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head forward, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You're not sorry that I know you love me?"

"No."

"You know I'll use that against you at every opportunity, despicable thing that I am."

She took a shuddering breath but held his eyes. "I know that."

That knowledge shot down his spine like lightning and he dropped down to claim her mouth as his. HIS.

Before he thought too clearly on the subject, the words were out of his mouth and against her lips, "Did you kiss Longbottom a lot these past few weeks?"

"Yes."

He growled, "Did you fuck him?"

"All the time. I missed you terribly." He dove into her mind spurred by nothing better than rage and jealousy to find her laughing at him.

_Liar._

_Yes._

He stayed in her mind though, and found it wasn't such a maelstrom as a river. He tread water through the eddies of her mind, pulled and tugged her dress off her body as her memories pulled on him.

If he found something he liked as well, he revisited it upon her. He found that listening to her like this while paying attention to her body was like fine tuning a stringed instrument all alone in a stone room. Every note reverberated back into him, every tweak, every pull, every slide and groan and measure gained between them until it was drowning them both in the very onslaught of sensation. Somewhere along the way, he'd untied her wrists and by the time he was pushing into her _just the way she wanted him to,_ she was clawing his back in little curls instead of scratches, bit by bit, all the way down to his arse, _just the way he wanted her to._

Each touch was measured against what the other wanted and left nothing to be desired, every breath crying out at just the right note, the right pitch, the right time.

The inevitable perfect conclusion immolated them both beyond sound. They simply couldn't do more than gasp for breath and shatter into darkness.

* * *

Severus could not ever remember waking up with someone curled about him like this. It was singularly comforting and terrifyingly addictive. Her skin was the exact right temperature and texture and he couldn't take his hands off of her now that he'd awakened. She wrapped herself closer, tighter as he did so, running her own hands over his body. Rolling her head towards his chest, which she'd been using as a pillow, she encased one of his nipples in her soft lips and he was instantly more awake than he had been.

He shuddered at both the emotion and the attention. Last night had not been a dream, nightmare, or vision. It had really happened and _she_ was right there in his bed to prove it. Memory of what they'd shared rocked his vision and made him crush her body to him.

"Mmff!"

He pulled her back, laid her flat back against the bed and started devouring her. Mouth, to cheek, to ear, to neck, biting her shoulder and licking just above her breast. He traveled further down, worshipping her breasts, every inch of them until she was whimpering and shaking beneath him.

He stopped, looked down at her and she made an inquiring noise. He took his time and drank in the sight of her. HIS.

"You asked me last night what more did I want?"

She angled up on her elbows and knitted her brows together, her disheveled bushy hair taking up most of the pillow.

"Yes?"

* * *

Hermione waited, bated breath, not knowing what more he could possibly want from her. With a whisper, he let her into his mind and kissed her again and she knew that he'd never say it out loud—he was too much of a bastard for that—but he'd say it every other way he could until the day he died.

_I want __you__, I love you, you're MINE._

(The End)

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* * *

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_A/N: Okay, so is this a better end? Do you feel the story is complete now? ;) I assure you I was surprised when so much burst forth from my fingers after only starting at the first chapter, but such is fanfiction, right? Let me know what you think!_


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